


Heisenbitch Snippets

by Porkchop_Sandwiches



Series: Story Time [4]
Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porkchop_Sandwiches/pseuds/Porkchop_Sandwiches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For when you want to read some Walt/Jesse but don't have a lot of time. This is the Go-Gurt or Pop-Tart if you will of a Heisenbitch breakfast.</p><p>Or...I wrote a lot of Walt/Jesse snippet things on Tumblr and wanted to finally share them here :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poolside Cigars

Walt's sitting in one of his lounge chairs by _his_ pool and Jesse is also there for some reason or another.

Skyler  _still_ has the kids at Hank and Marie’s.

Walt wanted a quiet Saturday afternoon to himself but Jesse shows up at around two, just strolls back into Walt’s damn backyard. But, it’s simply glorious outside: pleasantly hot, clear skies and someone’s grilling beef ribs a few houses down. Walt’s too content with his scotch and cigar to care much about whatever trivial matter Jesse is even there to ask him about.

Jesse, working his jaw kind of funny, cautiously asks, “Like can I have one of those?”

And _oh_ , it takes Walt another sip or two to realize Jesse means a cigar. He’s got a whole box. Why not?

Walt cuts it for him, leans forward with the cigar to light it while Jesse sucks on the thing, lips around the flaky brown paper. He coughs after the first drag.

“You don’t _inhale_. Don’t tell me you’ve never smoked a cigar.”

Jesse inspects it in his hand, squinting. “Well, like not since I snatched one from my uncle at this Fourth of July cookout when I was like fourteen. Shit’s expensive; usually tastes nasty too.”

Walt’s nodding and wondering if he should trim the hedges on the left side of the yard and he’s trying not to stare at Jesse pulling on the cigar with his lips open and wide. But, the entire roof of his mouth is going numb and feels nearly sanitized and soaked in scotch. The reflective wavering of the sun is hitting his glasses so Jesse’s the only place in his vision not saturated in light.

Jesse leans back in his chair and absently scratches his stomach, even lifting his shirt to target the itch. Walt wonders if he has a new tattoo, maybe another all black one, design spanning past his navel, dripping down his pelvic bone. Walt would admire it for a minute or two before nudging Jesse down by his shoulders until the boy was on his knees, stretching those lips around his cock, sucking _eagerly_ for him. Jesse would be watching his face, eyes blue twin-images of Walt’s swimming pool, desperately waiting for Walt to wade in them, to soak in any “Jesse, that’s it. Open up a little wider. Yes. _Good_ , Jesse,” Walt could offer. And Jesse would be slurping, drawing him in almost too strong like the filter grabbing at the edge of his swim trunks; his tongue working him just right.

Then Jesse, real Jesse, is saying, “Yo, you fall asleep with your eyes open?”

And Jesse's unsuccessfully trying to ash his cigar, flinging it with a jerky wrist and Walt wants to teach the boy so much.      


	2. Babysitting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV switches back and forth for fun since the piece is so short. I hope it's not confusing :)

Walt spends an entire fucking day with Skyler as she researches the logistics of buying a car wash. Flynn is on an overnight school field-trip to Yosemite and Marie is so apologetic it’s nearly saccharin but she can’t watch Holly because of some sort of work obligation that somehow involves Hank as well. Walt’s desperate, so he gets Jesse to watch Holly. He tells Skyler he has a student babysitting so he isn’t _necessarily_ lying. Jesse used to be a student. Details like their meth partnership or their new promising, blossoming sex life don’t seem pressing to Walt.

Jesse has an exhausting though pretty fun time with Holly. Yeah, she’s a messy eater and like _hates_ carrots, but she grins when Jesse plays peekaboo with her and she doesn’t cry if Jesse holds her when he sits on the couch, and he guesses her mom likes to sit her down here too, which kind of gives him the creeps because Mr. White’s totally fucked him on this sofa. But, he flips the T.V. on to one of those Animal Planet shows on kittens. He ain’t even sure how much Holly is getting out of it, but she’s this warm, soft heap in his arms in all pink and she’s holding his index finger with one hand and kind of gurgles on his thumb as she shakes his hand like a baby does, and he can like just _see_ in her eyes she’s telling him everything’s okay, you’re all right Jesse, and P.S. sorry my dad’s a dick to you sometimes. She falls asleep against his chest and it’s so comforting having this mini-heart beat curled up at his collarbone that he passes out too. But, then he wakes up to her wailing and she’s hungry and touchy and fidgety and basically since the sun is down this kid has turned into a baby banshee.

Walt doesn’t make it back to the house until almost eleven.

“Can you can handle Holly for the night?” Skyler says, stony-faced over the steering wheel.

She looks tired as well, and even though Walt suspects she’s going to drive straight to Ted’s, he feels a little sympathetic. He's also covering his ass as far as keeping Jesse a secret.

He smiles. "Of course." 

And he's still smiling as he finds Jesse cooing his infant daughter to sleep, slumped against the railing of her crib with mashed carrot bits in his hair and on his shirt, muttering maybe the theme song to Sesame Street.

Walt smiles and comes up behind Jesse and the boy jumps.

Walt whispers “Shh, don’t wake her.”

He kisses the back of Jesse’s neck and Jesse is trying his best to be bristly.

“Yo, you said it’d be eight at the _latest_." Jesse's voice is a frustrated hiss. "And why the fuck didn’t you tell me she hates carrots?”

Mr. White nuzzles into Jesse's hair, kisses the shell of his ear all slow, and says, “You put in a hard day. Why don’t we head off to bed, all right?”

“Yo, I ain’t your little housewife. You can’t just feed me bullshit lines like that. Plus, I’m like fucking covered in Gerber guts.”

Walt reaches around Jesse, chest to the boy's back, and pops the button open on his jeans. He slip his hand right inside Jesse’s boxers.

Mr. White licks languidly at Jesse’s throat and Holly’s nightlight is on and her mobile is slightly swaying and Jesse can feel himself twitch in Mr. White’s hand as the dude says, “Then let’s get you a bath.”

Jesse just  _has_ to thrust just once into the guy's palm.

Mr. White kisses his neck again and says, “Come on, not in here.”


	3. Car Wash

Jesse could tell Mr. White had fucked some poor bastard over today and that he was feeling real smug about it. ‘Cause those were like the only times Jesse got head. And, Jesse was getting the best damn blowjob of his life in the passenger seat of Mr. White’s fucking Pontiac.

He thought it was kind of weird that Mr. White wanted to get his car washed after hours, but it was his place now so Jesse didn’t really question it. Mr. White was playing a slow-jam kind of song by some Scaggs guy: super mellow with a lot of jazz flutes and shit. The windshield was covered in this turquoise foam, frothing down the windshield almost like some trippy, glimmering mermaid stuff that was both fascinating and calming Jesse like he was a fucking twelve-year-old girl. Those giant toothbrush-looking things were starting up when Mr. White reached over, clicked off Jesse’s seat belt and kissed him with a hand already working him up through his jeans. Jesse was tired. He was totally cool with just kissing, opening his mouth for Mr. White, gently licking Mr. White’s tongue. But, the dude was backing away and Jesse could actually feel himself chase Mr. White's lips, like lean his neck out for more. Mr. White smirked. The guy had Jesse’s cock out of his pants and in his mouth at like fucking rocket speed.

Jesse wanted to thrust up  _so_ bad.

Mr. White was taking these slow like torturous pulls, one hand gripping his balls as his lips dragged from hilt to tip, tongue fluttering out to press wet against the slit, lapping up all of Jesse’s foam and froth. It was _too_ fucking much.

Jesse jerked up.

Mr. White smacked him hard as shit on the inside of his thigh.

Jesse actually _yelped_ and his throat didn’t have enough time to shut down before that sound broke off into a whine. Mr. White’s mouth was so hot and slick, sucking along every damn vein and nerve like a pro. That palm around his sack was now a firm heel against his taint and Mr. White was sucking _so good_ and Jesse shot out into the dude's mouth like one long burst that had Jesse tipping his head back into the seat.  

By the time he opened his eyes again, the window was rinsed and…no fucking way.

Mr. White was oblivious as usual, cupping Jesse’s jaw and pressing his slippery lips against Jesse’s. He could taste himself, the like bitterness there, but that wasn’t what was making him super anxious and nauseous.

Jesse pushed Mr. White away, and the guy was all like squinting.

“I thought you liked kissing after.”

Jesse just nodded ahead.

Mrs. White was standing there smoking a cigarette. She didn’t look pissed. It was almost like she was bored or something.

Jesse could feel the car moving and the fucking window was coming down and Mr. White was raising his eyebrows like waiting on her. The music was still on and Jesse couldn’t even get himself to move to cover his dick.

Mrs. White just took a drag from her cigarette, tossed them an A1 washcloth and said, “I guess it’s a good thing I stayed late. You look like you could use this.”


	4. Sketch Pad

Mr. White shows up at Jesse’s house out of the fucking blue on an early Sunday afternoon. Jesse answers the door in his jack-o-lantern shirt and some black boxers with orange skulls on them ‘cause who gives a shit if he’s dressed for Halloween in May? It was the closest shit to pull on last night. He’s been up for a while drawing, which he hasn’t done in like forever. Mr. White wants to “hang out” and Jesse has no clue why ‘cause yeah they fuck or whatever, but Mr. White’s more of a in-and-out type of dude.

But, whatever.

He gets Mr. White a Coke and finds him lounging in his Papasan chair.

“Yo, I was sitting there.”

Mr. White takes his drink and shrugs. "Jesse, you have an _entire_  futon available."

Jesse doesn’t want to like spook his drawing flow by changing seats and shit. So, he just plops down on the dude’s lap. Mr. White kind of grunts, like maybe surprised, but then Jesse’s got his sketch pad open and Mr. White’s sipping his Coke and it’s like this shit gets normal real fast.

At some point, Mr. White rubs the top of Jesse’s shoulder.

“You can lean back more if you want.”

Jesse cranes his neck a little with an eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I got you.” Mr. White smiles.

Jesse's not sure if he's alright with the guy being so nice, but he relaxes against Mr. White’s chest, having to hold his sketchbook up more. Mr. White actually fucking compliments him on his symmetry and proportions ‘cause of course he picks out the nerdiest things about art. Jesse’s working on a new super hero with like the leg-strength of a dude-sized frog, like strong as hell and he can leap over anything.

Mr. White’s got his damn chin on Jesse’s shoulder, hand slowly going up and down his arm, and saying this could be like a real comic. He feels soft and he smells like old-guy cologne and bacon, and fuck if that doesn’t get Jesse _so_ hard probably for whatever same fucked up reason that makes him suck this dude's cock on a regular basis. His next-door neighbors are mowing their lawn and somebody outside is arguing about where to go to brunch and the whole room is like painted in sunshine.

Jesse tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and shoves back so the hard line of his cock totally on purpose rubs against the guy's thigh. Mr. White does that surprise grunting thing again so Jesse does it a second time, just rolling his crotch and ass.

Mr. White grabs him by each knee and yanks him back as Mr. White jerks up.

Shit, it’s like they’re naked in seconds and Jesse’s sinking back onto Mr. White’s cock with Jesse's back to Mr. White's chest and Mr. White’s hands look fucking _huge_ rubbing Jesse’s legs. And yeah they’re far enough from the window for somebody to miss details like how Jesse’s inner thighs are smeared in pre-come or how Mr. White’s glasses are poking him in the spine as the guy kisses his tat. But the blinds are open so if anybody tried at all they’d totally see the big picture: Mr. White fucking him in his Papasan at like 11 in the morning. Jesse hasn’t even had breakfast, but he’s about to come so hard he’s still trembling a while after he’s totally limp. And someone’s garage door whirs shut and somebody’s rolling down the street on a skateboard.

Mr. White’s got his arms around Jesse, saying shit like, “It’s okay. I got you."


	5. The Darjeeling Heisenbitch Limited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is SUPER random, but I really really really wanted Walt and Jesse to have train sex and then I re-watched "The Darjeeling Limited" again and then according to my Tumblr timeline I ended up writing this nonsense on my birthday.

Mr. White has no idea Jesse’s got a tarantula in the wooden box under his loafer. Yeah, Jesse’s wearing fucking _loafers_ and slacks and like a shirt with buttons and a collar ‘cause the dude was all, “We’re traveling internationally, Jesse. Why don’t you put a little more effort into your appearance?”

That’s gotta be a fucking joke ‘cause even with the huge sunglasses on Jesse’s face blocking out his slowly fading hangover, he can see Mr. White looks like a fucking wreck. He’s got a black eye, white like medical tape across the bridge of his nose. Apparently Mike decked the dude hard enough to bust his lip.

Jesse’s got to take a piss like no other ‘cause he’s had about twelve sweet limes, but that that chick wearing all the colorful blankets-dress-thing is back asking if they want anything else. Jesse just looks out the window, watches the passing sunbaked mountains and desert that feel like an endless loop of Albuquerque following his ass halfway across the fucking world. He doesn’t need to order tequila considering this morning in the dinning cart and Mr. White being all like, “I’ll have toast on the side, and he’ll have his eggs scrambled. No, he doesn’t like curry.” Jesse doesn’t dig people ordering for him, but giving Mr. White the silent treatment was kind of stupid when they’re sharing a space smaller than the fucking RV. There’s nothing to do in this bitch ‘cept take naps on the top bunk or watch Mr. White shave his head in their tiny-ass bathroom or stand outside that railing kind of thing with a cigarette even though it’s hot as fuck out there.

But, it doesn’t smell like New Mexico and he tries to tell himself the sand and the heat feel different too. They’re fucking gone. Gale and Gustavo can go fuck themselves for all Jesse cares. He’s read and re-read his X-Men graphic novels, and he just wants something to do. 

They gotta wait for the tequila so he might as well get a smoke in first.

“I saw the way you were looking at her,” Mr. White says.

Jesse's thinking who? But, on the way out with a cigarette tucked between his lips, hands fumbling around unfamiliar pants for a lighter, his bladder’s screaming, “Yo bitch!” and he slips into the hall bathroom.

He’s washing his hands when Mr. White busts in ‘cause Jesse forgot to lock the door since he had to piss so bad. And Mr. White tugs the cigarette out of Jesse’s mouth, kissing him with enough tongue and doing enough pushing to back Jesse into the wall. It’s so fucking cramped in here. But, Jesse’s soon got his legs open for the guy, calves pressed against Mr. White’s bare ass with his own ass thumbing against wood paneling, and Mr. White’s cock still knows all of Jesse’s little sensitive spots way over on the other half of the world, like in the newest sandpit they’ve found themselves in. He tastes like tangy limes and he’s rubbing and working the head of Jesse’s cock like someone trying to get in a locked door. And he fucking swears they have their first simultaneous orgasm in a damn train bathroom, the thing whistling and clunking away, and people talking Indian in the hall. Mr. White’s kissing him again and Jesse _really_ hopes he latched that tarantula box tight.     

          


	6. Wet Leather and Hot Showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: light BDSM and consensual bondage.

Walt's experiencing that blissful groove in his shower when the water is at a perfect, steaming temperature and he already feels lighter. It's the morning of his birthday. His skin is under a sheet of water and he's shampooing his scalp more so out habit than cleanliness. He’s fifty-one, and he woke up to an empty house, walked inside his empty bathroom, and stepped into an empty tub.

God knows where Skyler is.

But, there’s something about the early morning void that makes Walt feel bigger. He’d associate it with a higher self-esteem, inflated self-worth if he used that kind of pop psychology nonsense.

He’s got his scalp in a lather and he’s mumbling a song to himself when he sees a shadow through the curtain.

Someone’s walking towards him. They’re swinging something back and forth with this sort of metallic echo. He’s picturing an undead Fring wielding a jangling axe as the plastic barrier whooshes to the side in a series of clinks.

Jesse’s naked.

He lifts a pair of leather handcuffs over his head.

With a goading gleam to his eyes, he says, “Happy birthday, Asshole.”

Walt’s quick to tether Jesse to the faucet. No, not the shower head, because he wants the boy on his haunches, mouth slick and velvety around his cock. Jesse’s buzz cut and shoulders are dewy because most of the downpour is gliding down Walt’s back, his body almost an awning over Jesse and the boy’s trembling. His lips look stunning around Walt's cock.

With the way Jesse’s hands are shackled, he’s entirely vulnerable to Walt’s hearty, even-paced thrusts. And while there’s an occasional gag or gape for breath, Jesse’s suckling obediently, heavy-lidded, puddled down into that place where he goes when things like “ _Good boy_ ” make him moan and swirl his tongue and slurp.

“Being _so_ good for me today. My good boy,” Walt says.

He's breathing out laboriously against the tiles, and the sentiment is genuine because Jesse had been entirely resistant to the idea of bondage. Walt found it curious that after spanking, name calling, and biting had Jesse consistently squirming and whining and dripping for him, that having his extremities bound would be such an issue. But, whatever his hang-up was has apparently risen from him like the steam filling the room.

_“Yes_ ,” Walt groans, “being so good for…,” and before he can lick the words back behind his teeth he sighs, “So good for Daddy.”

Jesse arches his back as much as he can, muffled shout, enjoying this much more than Walt expected. But _oh_ , that’s right, Walt turned on the spigot for Jesse and the boy's got a nice, strong flow of hot water on his crotch, providing Jesse with maybe just a taste of the things he’s doing for Walt.

He can feel his own orgasm boiling up the base of his spine like the creeping blood-red line of mercury in a thermometer. Jerking himself free with an obscene _plop_ , he presses Jesse’s head back and aims for that come-on-me dragon dangling above an nearly connected to Jesse’s nipple. And Walt comes onto the boy’s tattoo and chest in a vigorous spurt Walt’s proud to be behind, experiencing that tired euphemism of seeing constellations more so than ever. Jesse’s panting and pinching his hips forward and presumably reaching orgasm as well.

Once Walt has his bearings again he makes fast work out of untying Jesse, kissing the pink, raw skin of his chaffed wrists, and bringing him full force into the warmth above them as he soothes Jesse back into reality.

He knows the boy’s present again when he kisses his jaw and murmurs, “Good boy."

Because he gets, “Fuck off, Prick,” in return.

Jesse also mumbles, "Happy birthday or whatever."

Walt presses in another kiss and smiles.


	7. Lasagna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fill for a Tumblr prompt. I'd made a comment on a gif of a raccoon kissing a puppy and this is what inspired the requested prompt: "I feel like it's really weird that this was inspired by a raccoon, but just imagine Jesse giving Walt a sweet, little kiss like that, tilting his head up and bringing his hands up to Walt's face and kissing him, soft and tentative, his way of saying, 'I need you.'"

Walt has once again finagled his way back into _his_ house. It is _his_ after all. And Skyler and the kids are staying at Hank and Marie’s. Walt doesn’t give a flying fuck. He spent the almost the whole day in the lab by himself because Jesse was working “his other job” with Mike, and he wanted to be mad when Jesse showed up to break up the trays but the boy looked wearier than usual, really drained, didn't really go into it with Walt other than a shrug, one white headphone already jabbed in his ear.

“Going clean’s a bitch some days.”

Walt understood he was referring to his sobriety.

So Walt invites Jesse over to his house, which he almost _never_ does, their sexual relationship aside. And Jesse plops himself down on the kitchen counter.

Walt supposes the buzz-cut, dark jeans, imposing black leather jacket combo is supposed to make Jesse look tough, but Walt feels like the boy is this tiny hoodlum figurine Walt has all to himself. He’s cooking Jesse a “proper” lasagna.

Jesse’s eyebrows are up. “You mean?”

Walt smiles.“Yes, no cheese scabs on top.”

And they’re waiting on the oven and Walt needs to get the shredded Parmesan from a cabinet behind Jesse.

He points. "Can you hand me the cheese shaker right there? The one next to the Morton salt."

“Yo," Jesse dejectedly drops his head onto his shoulder, "Do I really gotta move?”

Walt rolls his eyes and fetches a stool and he has to lean past Jesse. But, the boy is looking up at him transfixed.

Jesse smiles and takes Walt’s glasses off.

He frames Walt’s face in his hands and kisses the wrinkled creases on both eyes and then makes a soft trail down to his jaw and peppers a couple on his earlobe and a nice open-mouth one on his neck that makes Walt gasp.

And Jesse’s tipping up because he’s sitting and Walt is on this stool above him and the boy’s kissing him all over and the room smells deliciously of tomatoes and mozzarella, cheddar, and Gouda all melted down and baking into one. And Walt loves that Jesse’s clutching on to him like this, leather jacket squeaking, both of them fucking claiming this kitchen as their territory now. Walt feels so damn _loved_   and while he'd never imagine vocalizing his feelings in such a way, under his scabby, arrogant exterior, a small part of him is a gooey mess that just wants to be held and kissed. Walt knows this is Jesse’s way of saying “I love you,” and Walt finally manipulates their lips into meeting as he relaxes his chest forward at Jesse’s contented little sigh. And for _fuck’s_ sake, Walt dearly loves the boy back.   


	8. Thorough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is written for the following prompt: "Imagine Walt kissing Jesse everywhere, fucking him half out of his mind with lust. Nibbling his ears, rimming his perfect rosebud of an asshole, even sucking his toes."
> 
> This is like 98% smut. 
> 
> If you need me, I'll be in the garbage.

Jesse’s had more than his fair share of bad memories associated with this second-floor bathroom, so Walt hopes to give Jesse a pleasant one.

He slips in behind Jesse in the shower, and the boy is this sinewy vision of lean muscles and shiny-wet tattoos with suds in his hair, eyes closed. Walt waits for the shampoo to rinse out before wrapping his hand around Jesse’s cock, and the boy startles just for a second before grinding back and humming with a husky twinge to the sound.

“Fuck, Mr. White, you’re like a shower ninja.”

Walt takes the washcloth from Jesse and starts lathering him up, wanting the boy  _especially_ clean because Walt is perhaps a bit of a germaphobe but also, as Jesse likes to put it, a “total freak in bed,” and he has plans. Walt needs to be thorough.

He even works the cloth a little inside of Jesse, which gets Walt a quiver from the boy.

“Yo! Like, give a guy a warning.”

Walt props his chin on Jesse’s shoulder, chest to Jesse’s back, and says very dryly, “I’m going to finger you now.”

He inches the cloth in just a smidgen more.

Jesse groans and nods. “Right on, man.”

Once Jesse’s completely scrubbed and mostly dry, Walt starts kissing him the second they’re in Jesse’s bed. If Walt’s lips were one end of a magnet than Jesse’s mouth, nipples, and collarbone would act as the opposite charge because that’s typically all Walt kisses. But, Jesse’s been out of rehab for three whole weeks without a relapse and that deserves a damn celebration. And Walt’s sucking on those little nipples as they harden against his tongue, nibbling Jesse’s dragon tattoo as if Walt could scrape it off like a sticker, and he’d already given the boy nearly half a hand job in the shower so Jesse’s cock is stiff and dragging along Walt’s skin as he moves above the boy. Then Walt’s kissing down Jesse’s thighs and the backsides of his knee and Jesse thrashes a little and giggles.

“Shit, stop, that tickles. Fucking suck my cock already.”

Walt just bites down on the simultaneously soft and hard swell of Jesse’s calf like an apple between his teeth and Jesse likes that very much, moaning. He moves down farther to plop the big toe of Jesse’s foot between his lips, using the very same tongue-swirling, just-right-suction, hint-of-teeth technique Walt knows Jesse loves during fellatio.

By the time Walt moves away from the toe, he glances up to see the longest strand of pre-come he’s ever witnessed dangling in a gleaming strand from the boy’s prick to the mattress. Walt crawls up, parts Jesse’s thighs wider, Jesse’s cock twitching with a new spurt even though Walt’s doing nothing more than breathing on it. He takes a peek at Jesse who has this dazed sort of smile on his face at the hopeful prospect of getting head.

But, Walt places a kiss firmly against Jesse’s perineum before taking a long, _leisurely_ lick at Jesse’s opening.

Jesse shouts, literally shouts and Walt has him secure against the sheets so the boy’s practically helpless, just semi-violently squirming, as Walt continues to lick and lick around that perfect little rosebud before he’s probing his way inside. The boy is almost sobbing as he shivers, though he’s desperately parting his thighs wider all the while. Walt ventures to give the sensitive tissue on the outside a little more attention, moving his tongue in heavy circles.

Jesse appears to have just enough wherewithal to happily moan, “ _Mmm_ , baby, you eat me out so good.”

Walt smiles, knowing it _must_ be good for Jesse since the boy only calls him "baby" when he’s half out his mind with arousal.

Walt’s soon diving back in, just _shoving_ his tongue forward, lapping almost as loudly as Jesse is whimpering.

When the boy comes it seems to go on obscenely long, Jesse nearly running out of energy to cry out that beautiful reputation of “ _Mr. White, Mr. White, Mr. White._ ”

Walt takes his time cleaning the boy up with his tongue and lips because Jesse is an absolute mess. He needs to be thorough.


	9. Spanking: Jesse's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the following anon request on tumblr: "Walt/Jesse spanking/dirty talk."
> 
> I set this in first season because I wanted to. Warning: for the above and some strong dub-con.

The past couple of days have been like _the_ most fucked up version of “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.” ‘Cause Jesse sort of found out if you let Mr. White kiss you just like _one_ time when you’re baked as fuck, then he'll want to do hand shit. And if you jerk each other off in the backseat of your Monte Carlo, he’s gonna want a blowjob. And if you tell him like, “Yo, I ain’t giving you head,” then he's gonna be pissy in the Crystal Ship all damn day. If he’s being a little bitch, then the cook’s gonna get jacked up and Jesse’s gonna point it the fuck out. And if you correct the guy enough, he’s gonna bend you over the counter and spank you so hard your eyes start like watering up.

Yeah, Jesse’s getting a fucking spanking.

Mr. White’s hand has gotta be cupped for like maximum aerodynamic shit or something ‘cause Jesse swears he’s already got welts on his ass even though he’s getting hit through his jeans and boxers.

“You little brat!” Mr. White growls. “I don’t take instructions on how to cook _my_ formula especially not from some pathetic…stoned…crybaby fuck-up.”

Jesse ain’t even high right now, but like _fuck yeah_ he’s crying. Mr. White’s hitting him like a damn sledgehammer. And _oh shit_ the dude’s yanking his pants down.

“Yo, what the fuck, no, Mr. White!”

Jesse's boxers are big enough to fucking come off with his pants in a pile.

The first slap on his ass jolts him ‘cause there ain’t no buffer anymore, skin stinging like a picked-off mosquito bite. But the next one—

“ _Oh shit,_ ” Jesse says.

He's got spit coming down his chin, sobbing, dick twitching

—that one felt _really_ fucking good. It only takes like three more on his left cheek before he’s cock is totally hard, sticking right up against his stomach, dribbling on his treasure trail almost as much as Jesse’s still blubbering because this shit still hurts.

And maybe he breathes a weird way when Mr. White loses his balance or some shit and Jesse’s crotch bangs into the counter ‘cause he can feel Mr. White’s breath on the tip of his shoulder and he’s pretty sure the asshole sees.

“For god’s sake Jesse, what kind of…"

Mr. White just like stops for a sec, like smacking and talking and everything. The dude’s mouth is all up on Jesse’s ear.

“You little slut.”

Then it’s like the only thing Mr. White knows how to say as he starts spanking him again.

“Such a slut. Filthy, dirty slut.”

Jesse’s actually moaning through the tears now ‘cause for whatever fucked-up reason, getting called a slut is making his sick-ass prick hella happy.

“ _Mr. White_ ,” he moans without even thinking ‘cause Mr. White’s hand is around his dick, other hand still spanking.

“ _Mmm_ , you’re a pretty little slut.”

And with his ass numb and a fucking screechy “ _Fuck, Mr. White_ ,” he comes in Mr. White’s warm hand, sweating and crying. He realizes at some point he started tilting his ass up for the guy and it’s like three in the afternoon on a Thursday and Mr. White’s wiping jizz down Jesse’s thigh, and for fuck’s sake he feels like such a fucking slut.


	10. Spanking: Walt's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the following anon tumblr prompt: "I'd kill for a Walt/Jesse spankings story-hands only, maybe belt. Jesse fucks up and/or is sassy as fuck and it gets on Walt's last nerve so he just lays into the boy. But, Jesse finds (to his horror) that he LOVES it and starts deliberately doing shit to try to 'earn' it. Walt doesn't really catch on at first and is just thinking, 'Why the fuck is he being such a brat?!' When he finally does get it, he totally works Jesse over, playing him, making him practically beg for it, pausing randomly to fondle Jesse, and dragging it out."
> 
> This is in no way connected to the other spanking drabble. They were actually written weeks or so apart but I thought they acted nicely as consecutive "chapters" in this collection.
> 
> Warning: spankings and initial dub-con.

The second after it’s over, Walt wants to immediately forget it ever happened. He wants to cram it into that dark attic space in his mind already cluttered with a bottomed-out bathtub and its ensuing pulpy waterfall, and a bicycle lock, and the phone calls he’d orchestrated to play Hank like a squat, plastic pawn in the much larger game that seems rather endless at the moment. Walt doesn’t want to exactly think back on his most recent actions, mostly because he’d never spanked anyone before, not even his own son. Skyler had been against corporal punishment and Walt went along with her wishes. He used to do a lot of that…for everyone: bending over backwards to please anyone, even apologizing to the ass-wipes that stepped all over him.

And maybe that was part of what tipped Walt past the breaking point in the lab. Jesse had been mouthing off. He didn’t want to clean the equipment and was taking a break nearly every fifteen minutes for a sip of water or to go out for a cigarette or just to swivel around in one of the office chairs like an irksome teenage nuisance.

He’d brushed by Walt at some point, calling him a pussy for not demanding their own cleaning crew, and Walt was simply done with it.

He pushed Jesse into the table in front of them and popped him on the rear. He didn’t hold back. He really _smacked_ the boy.

And Jesse had responded immediately: yelped, tried to squirm away, yelled, “Yo, what the _fuck_ , man? What the hell are you doing?”

Walt had actually growled with his teeth clenched, and spoke between harsh slaps, “What…does it…feel like…I’m doing…Jesse?”

He pinned the boy down more securely with his forearm horizontally braced against Jesse’s lower back, actually enjoyed the swishy material of the hazmat suit shifting in his palm.

Jesse had started to cry with an alarmed, “ _Oh shit_ ” before “ _Shit, shit, shit_ ” and another much more violent spasm as if he were crying harder.

It was then that Walt stopped.

Jesse had learned his lesson.

Walt attempts to block this incident as best as he can. But, over the next few days, Jesse is behaving more obnoxiously than normal. Nearly everything he says is a taunt, blue eyes flashing amid the bruising still there from the incident with Hank, lip split but smirking all the same. He’s fucking taunting Walt. And it’s as if Walt’s unlocked some sort of recessed knee-jerk reaction as spanking the boy sickly becomes second-nature.

It goes on for the greater part of a week. Jesse is two hours late, so Walt pushes him into the lockers and spanks him. Jesse disappears halfway through the cook for a more than generously extended smoke break and returns with Mc Donald’s, so Walt smacks the paper sack from his hand that still smells like warm French fries and spanks him over the break-room sofa. Jesse flat-out refuses to clean the equipment.

Walt’s had more than enough of this shit.

He calls Jesse a “fucking brat,” nearly spitting against the back of Jesse’s neck as he slams his hand against Jesse’s ass. The boy's writhing, shuddering, struggling. Walt’s arm is starting to hurt.

But, Walt looks up and the light is just right that he can see Jesse’s reflection against the chrome surface of one of the tanks. And despite Jesse sniffling and thrashing about…his mouth is hollowed out, eyes shut tight, expression in pure, unmistakable bliss. Walt is compelled to hit him harder, just to test out this slowly boiling theory Walt’s cooking up, and sure enough Jesse licks his lips before biting down on his lower one.

At the next crack of Walt’s cupped palm, Jesse features squeeze in tight with a breathy, “ _Shit_.”

And this time when Jesse slinks away to the bathroom, Walt understands it isn’t to wipe his nose or avoid eye contact. The boy’s cleaning himself up. He’d come in his pants. Walt unemotionally made Jesse orgasm nearly… _damn_ …five or six times now. He feels a bit cheated, played, used in all of this. And if the boy enjoys it so much, well it won’t be that simple next time.        

The next time is the very next day.

They’re preparing to weigh their new batch, and when Jesse slings the tub onto the counter, he accidentally knocks Walt’s pen to the floor. Walt, visibly perturbed, taps his fingers against the clipboard.

“Aren’t you going to pick that up?”

Jesse, wide eyed, asks, “Uh, pick up what?”

Once the ballpoint in question is identified, Jesse offers Walt one of his signature, “Are you fucking serious?” expressions and Walt most certainly is.

But, Jesse takes the bait, asks what Walt will do if he doesn’t “fetch your dumbass pen” and Walt can’t believe how blind by rage he’d been to miss how Jesse’s already bending over for him.

He gets directly behind Jesse, cups the right cheek.

He speaks in Jesse’s ear, “Tell me what you want.”

Jesse’s mute of course because admitting anything would be humiliating, so Walt lightly pats him, alternates sides, whispers, “I’d bet you’d love a spanking.” He rubs his hand against the crease of the boy’s ass and adds, “You’ve been very naughty…and you deserve a spanking.”

He lightly pinches the hazmat suit just above Jesse’s rear, talking softly and matter-of-factly into Jesse’s ear: “Take this off, son. Spankings feel better on a bare bottom.”            

And Jesse needs no other encouragement to rip the zipper down, peel his suit down to reveal a stunningly slim body, and tugging off his boxers before displaying the lush, pale, swell of his ass for Walt, arched like a cat in heat.

“Good,” Walt says.

He gives no other warning before delivering his first slap.

Jesse shivers all over with another, “ _Shit_ ” and when Walt does it again it’s a needier-sounding, “ _Oh shit, Mr. White_.”

Walt keeps his rhythm purposefully uneven, moving lower to whack his hand against outer and inner thighs. Jesse’s ass is a lovely shade of red when Walt sneaks two fingers between the boy’s legs and presses them into his perineum.

Jesse sobs, groaning, “ _Fuck, Mr. White._ ”

The pretense here is gone enough for Walt to lazily trace his hand around the pounding swell of Jesse’s erection, arm wedged between the boys thighs, wrist braced heavily against his opening in the back.

“Now, tell me son. Let me here what you want.”

And Jesse, absolutely fucking humiliated, creaks out, “I want…a spanking. _Please_ , Mr. White, give me a spanking.”

“Very good,” Walt says.

It’s fucking brutal for the next two or so minutes: Walt smacking Jesse’s ass as hard as physically possible, Jesse bawling but still tilting his rear up. He gives one hard slap to that tender little perineum and Jesse nearly explodes, trembling from sweaty shoulders down to his ankles tangled up in his hazmat suit. And Walt’s hand returns to Jesse’s prick because he wants to feel him come thickly in his palm, knowing full well he’s responsible for yet another of the boy’s orgasms, this time more slickly palpable and visceral and all so delicious.

As Jesse recovers from his orgasm with labored panting, Walt only needs to rut against Jesse’s bare ass a few times before he himself comes so hard he nearly levels the boy against the counter in front of them. Instead, he wobbly wipes his hand on the crumpled ball of Jesse’s hazmat suit and retrieves his ballpoint.


	11. Undressing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Daddy kink.
> 
> Set in season two...if it got weird. Blame me for reading this. I take all the blame.

Walt undresses Jesse one garish layer at a time.

He’s taking his time, easing down the long zipper of Jesse’s hoodie that droops down to his knees, rubbing the metallic design of his t-shirt between his fingers, grazing puckered nipples through cotton, tracing a light fingertip up the inseam of jeans much too loose to grant Jesse much satisfaction at the contact.

They’re in Jesse’s bed in the duplex, curtains shutting out the late night hour and street lights and the simmer of crickets quietly announcing summer, yellow sheets kicked down.

Jesse’s begging for it. " _Please_ , Mr. White. Daddy, _please._ ”

The boy is whispering and Walt assumes Jesse doesn’t want that girl next door hearing. But, Walt genuinely wants her to.

He creeps Jesse’s shirt up centimeter by centimeter, revealing warm skin exhaling onto Walt palms with Jesse’s back arched. Once the shirt is off, Walt does the same with Jesse’s blue jeans except he’s slower, even spends an interlude teasingly dragging the zipper down, stop, a little up, down, until Jesse’s actually tearing up, which isn’t that hard of a feat if Walt’s honest.

But the boy’s in nothing but boxers and Walt’s yanks them down his legs, cock bobbling upright and ready and pink and pretty and just as weepy as Jesse.

And Walt smiles at him and stands up and acts as if he’s going to stroll right out of the room (as if he were even capable of leaving such a sight), barely stands from the bed before Jesse shouts, “ _Mr. White._ " 

Jesse's breath is shaky and he's gritting his teeth and he's equally loud when he calls out,“Fuck me!”

Everything is sped up now: manipulating Jesse onto his knees, removing himself from his pants, oiling his cock in lube, hand on the boy’s belly, fucking him _so_ hard and deep and fast. And Jesse’s this whimpering, sobbing mess simply shouting, “ _Mr. White_ ” with a considerably more desperate, “ _Daddy, Daddy_.”

Walt hopes the girl can hear it every time.

He supposes she does considering the look she shoots him over her cigarette as he’s leaving the next morning. Walt’s jacket is disheveled and he smells like the boy’s body wash and sweat and come. But, just to make it clear, he smiles at her long enough for Jesse to wander out with his own cigarette, apparently a morning routine in progress, and Walt just fucking obliterates it when he yanks the boy forward by his neck and kisses Jesse right on his damn front stoop.

Walt parts with a simple, “Have a good day, son.”


	12. Bounce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the following anon prompt on tumblr: "I imagine Jesse would like being in Walt's lap because it makes him feel safe and loved. He would playfully jump on Walt's thighs while they were watching a movie (and of course making out during them). He loves being jerked of and/or fingered on Walt's lap-especially when Mr. White is still fully clothed and Jesse can feel him hard in his pants, and Walt whispers directly in his ear that he's a dirty boy. And best of all is when Walt bounces him on his cock."
> 
> If this interests you, keep reading :)
> 
> Warning: Daddy kink and Little-space.
> 
> Established relationship.

Walt’s had a tediously long day “researching” car wash establishments with Skyler and is only here at Jesse’s because he was invited via text message with a wink-smiley-thing and that usually means sex. But, Jesse hadn’t even bothered to let Walt in, though the door was unlocked and he’d yelled from upstairs, “Yo, Mr. White, beer and pizza’s in the kitchen. I’ll be down in a sec.”

Walt actually pouts over a steaming-hot bite of cheesy peperoni and swigs down nearly half of his Heineken before Jesse’s down the stairs, across the living room, and hops in Walt’s lap.

His hair is damp, wearing nothing but a simple black pair of boxers that perfectly match the swirling ink on his flesh, and he’s smiling. He cups the back of Walt’s neck with both hands and nuzzles into the side of Walt’s face, and Walt practically enfolds the tiny boy completely in his arms. Jesse’s back is warm to the touch and somehow both clammy and smooth.

“Did my boy miss me?” Walt asks.

He gets an enthusiastic nod against his collarbone.

“Want to watch a movie?”

Jesse nods again and picks out one of the _X-Men_ films, which Walt has little interest in, instead using it as mere explosion-filled white noise to cradle the side of the boy’s face, press his lips against Jesse’s, and slide his tongue in his mouth. Movie-watching tends to peter out into making out and Walt has no complaints about it. He honestly can’t remember the last film they sat through without groping each other before the credits.

And he’s groping Jesse now, slipping his hand between the boy’s thighs.

With a sweet infliction in his voice, he says, “Take your bottoms off for me, son.”

Jesse wiggles in anticipation before removing the cotton shorts. And, he’s absolutely gorgeous, naked, and in Walt’s lap. Soon enough, Walt’s fingering him, two digits shoving in and out, twisting the way that makes Jesse’s cock dribble onto the inside of Walt’s wrist as if the appendage were teething.

  
Jesse’s thighs grind against Walt’s groin that’s incredibly hard and still clothed and Jesse’s panting.

“Daddy brought me something to play with. Be nice and share, Daddy.”

The boy’s circling his pelvis into Walt’s pumping fingers.

Walt whispers in Jesse’s ear, “ _Mmm_ , playing with Daddy’s present before it’s unwrapped. Dirty boy, Jesse. Dirty little boy.”

And Jesse’s eating this up, moaning, and asking so politely, “Can I take it out Daddy?”

“You want to bounce on Daddy’s present?”

And it doesn’t take long at all for Jesse to do just that: sinking down around Walt’s prick, letting Walt grip him by his hips and bounce him up and down his shaft, Jesse mewling shamelessly.

“ _Good boy_ ,” Walt praises.

Jesse’s taking over a little now, jumping up and down on his very own like a good boy. His cock is prodding Walt in the belly, ruddy and slick, and Walt jerks him off, both of them thrusting into each other roughly enough for the futon to shake.

Jesse announces his orgasm with an “ _Oh, Mr. White_ ” and the telltale furrow of his forehead before spurting onto Walt’s hip.

But Jesse only falters momentarily before beautifully regaining his up-and-down momentum, and Walt has two hands full of Jesse’s bouncing ass as he pitches up and comes _deep_ inside the boy as Jesse peppers his jaw with little kisses.  


	13. Nuzzle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anon tumblr prompt basically asking for something where Walt consoles an angry Jesse, including cuddling and nuzzling. 
> 
> I pretty much stuck to the prompt. 
> 
> This is set the night of when Walt visits Jess in the hospital after Hank beats Jesse up.

Walt’s got a good grip on Jesse’s shoulder: hard enough so Jesse isn’t hitting Walt too much but it’s not firm enough to set off or exacerbate any of Jesse’s injuries. With a consoling, “Shh” and a peck against an unbruised spot on Jesse’s face, Walt slips into the boy’s hospital bed, still wearing his Walabees, dirtying sheets, but that’s not of Walt’s concern.

Jesse is upset, seething, shaking, and Walt’s holding on to Jesse, pulling him into his chest, hand on the back of Jesse’s head. Walt feels as if he’s got an armful of live firecrackers; Jesse’s nails nearly singing their way down his arms in sparks.

“Get the fuck out of my bed” he says. “Just ‘cause we fuck doesn’t make you my boyfriend, like you can’t just come back in here again after I told your ass off and after your asshole brother-in-law almost shattered my fucking face and just like visit me and bring me flowers…and….”

Jesse sobs, the sound throbbing and rumbling in Walt’s own chest cavity, sunflowers (Jesse’s favorite) limply placed on his food tray and Jesse’s clogged, wet-sounding, “They didn’t want to see me. People at the hospital called them…and my parents...they didn’t _fucking_ want to see me. I could of died…and they wouldn’t—”

Walt coaxingly shushes him again, scratches at Jesse’s scalp, which the boy tries to brush off only momentarily before he’s at least breathing a little more evenly. With a small kiss on Jesse’s earlobe, Walt slides his hand up Jesse’s hospital gown until his palm is circling Jesse’s navel. The boy’s a sucker for a good belly rub.

“It’s okay,” Walt says, “I’m here, son. I've got you.”

And just as expected, Jesse’s going slack at Walt’s touch, practically mewling, nuzzling into Walt’s chest. Jesse reaches out to practically adhere himself to Walt’s jacket. 

They spend a short, soft few minutes like that, Walt petting the boy.

"Yes, that’s it. That’s it. I got you.”

Then Jesse gently hikes a leg over Walt’s hips, lying almost on top of him though with a thigh braced on the bed as Walt’s still carefully massaging him.

Jesse meekly whispers, “Lower. _Please_ , Mr. White.”

And of course Walt lets his hand drop to the boy’s erection, because that’s what makes all belly rubs good. 

  


	14. Sunburned and Sleepy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the following anon tumblr prompt: "Just an alert Walt enjoying cuddling a sleepy Jesse. I mean he's dog-tired, just falling asleep and burrowing into the sheets and Mr. White for warmth."
> 
> This is set right after Jesse's in Mexico with Mike and Fring in season four.

Walt can’t rationalize it to himself logically, but he just _knows_ Jesse will be coming back from Mexico today, and that everything is fine, and those dead cartel members found around that swimming pool do _not_ indicate that the boy has been shot in the desert or will be found dead in a barrel. He’s sick even thinking he said that to Jesse. He misses the boy like a severed limb. At nine or so in the evening, he starts drinking coffee because he’s sure Jesse will come to his apartment considering he sleeps here most nights.

They’ll make up.

Everything will be alright. 

He adds three packets of sugar to his next mug of coffee at ten. It’s a quarter til one when he drinks half a slim can of one of the Red Bulls Jesse left in his fridge. At half past two, he’s finished the other half. There’s a jangle of keys at the door.

Walt is greeted by a slender, sunburned, sleepy son of a bitch.

Jesse doesn’t even say hello, collapses in Walt’s arms like he’s walked all this way, smells like chlorine and sand. He presses a feather-light kiss into Walt’s neck and his buzz cut is soft on Walt’s cheek.

The boy kisses him again with a meekly though gravely spoken, “Mr. White, can we go to bed?”

Walt leads him up the stairs with Jesse clinging to his shirt, weighing about as much as a puppy, before ridding the boy of his shirt, socks and shoes, and then his jeans. He removes his clothing as well and tucks them both in between the sheets.

And Jesse isn’t distant or wounded or pouting. No, he’s right up against Walt: face nuzzling into Walt’s chest, warm hands on his stomach, slightly wiggling in the way Walt knows that Jesse’s tired and attempting to find a comfortable position, not trying to initiate anything below the belt.

The boy shivers and Walt manipulates Jesse onto his back so he can pull the down comforter over them both. Jesse’s eyes are only half open but he makes a whisper-quiet whimpering sound and curls up into Walt, reaching his neck out for a kiss Walt happily gives him.

The boy’s still shaking to a degree, and maybe his sunburn has given him chills.

Walt lightly runs his palms up and down Jesse’s back. It only makes Jesse snuggle closer into Walt’s chest, both of them on their sides, facing one another. Jesse slots a leg between Walt’s, one arm draped across Walt’s waist, and then Jesse’s completely wrapped around him like a drowsy, warm, little monkey. 

Walt dips down for another kiss, which Jesse ever-so-slowly parts his lips for. And while Walt still has a bloodstream fueled with caffeine, he’s completely content watching Jesse slip away into slumber, tucked up against him, belly warm against his own.

He doesn’t fall asleep for nearly an hour, but it doesn’t bother Walt.

Everything is most certainly okay.


End file.
